


In Search Of

by bearbearlookchan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearbearlookchan/pseuds/bearbearlookchan
Summary: My take on a modern LSH situation in Brienne's pov. For JB week 2016





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, this is my first fic for ao3, the fandom and the ship.  
> This was originally a piece of homework for English lesson (yes i wrote a fanfic), then on my very first jb week I decided to contribute something and modify it. I don't know whether this suits duty or honour more, but anyway here it is!  
> Non-native, still a student, first timer, so please be lenient :) All mistakes are mine. Happy jb week!  
> Ps: duckwizardo or watson: thanks for checking my original work, I added something (A LOT) here. Hope you have a nice time in England! And thanks Annabeth for betaing this monster :)

Once upon a time, long long ago, when she was still an innocent girl living in her fairytale world, before reality rushed in and ruined everything, before politics and barged in and war laid waste to the bright and beautiful, she believed in stories, or what they taught her.  
She learnt that a person’s worth was not judged by appearance. She learnt to help others and not to lie. She learnt that heroes would be rewarded for the bravery and kindness.  
Not that it stayed in her mind for long. Helping others did not stop them from mocking her appearance. In this cruel world, there were only outright villains and wolves in sheepskin.  
But she held onto those beliefs, being her own hero. Yet as time passed, she barely clinged on. One misstep and people would push her into the abyss of being manipulated. So she swore a vow that she would do all she could to protect her loved ones.  
As a child, her teachers thought her quiet and stupid, doomed to be a failure. Though she got into National Security (as tough as it could be), they were right. Once, she went to the beach with her elder brother as a child and he drowned. Once, she was talking to her crush in school when a shooting happened and he died in front of her. When she was working in the capital, her parents died in the civil war. It was as if everyone she ever loved was sentenced to death.  
So she guarded her heart close, hoping to save an innocent and spare herself the pain.  
But again, she was a failure, and he appeared in her life.

The man stood in front of her, blank eyes gazing into nowhere, strands of dirty blond hair intertwined with mud and dirt. His crumpled grey shirt was overwhelmed by the crimson coming from the centre of his body. He smiled wryly at her.  
That’s impossible. She was the person who pulled the trigger. Her teary eyes must've crooked his painful look.  
“It's fine. It's your job. It's your duty. I don't blame you.” he whispered.  
“No,” she wanted to cry, “that’s not true.” The gunshot echoed in her ears. Her sobbing must've muffled his curses.  
The hooded person standing next to her wore a genuine smile that lit up the room, but it served only as a contrast to her dark future, having lost the light of her life. “You have completed your mission, Agent. A mission full of obstacles, yet you completed it triumphantly and have shown your utmost loyalty to the country. I am sure you will be rewarded heavily.”  
The person strode out of the room, leaving her to deal with the corpse she once had known alive and came to respect and love.  
A groan of pain interrupted her disturbing train of thoughts. She watched in muted horror as the man sunk to his knees in front of her, dignity and pride thrown out of the window. His fingers were dyed from clutching the gaping wound, the ruby river that was his life seeping out of him as he closed his eyes, a face once angelic now twisted in agony.  
There's nothing she could do to reverse the end of his life.  
The sorrow, pain and guilt hung in the room heavily like a dark canopy, blocking all the sunlight. It was too much, so she decided to leave the room.  
She immediately regretted that. Just outside the door, other agents flocked towards her to congratulate her.  
“A loyalist!” one cried.  
“An oathkeeper!” another shouted.  
“Brave and fearless!” they complimented. “Justice herself killed a false president and served the country well!”  
Their mocking rang in her ears. Only days ago, they were sniggering at how she was a traitor’s ally, a usurper’s whore.  
She mumbled her thanks to the mob of co-workers and retreated to her makeshift room, as tears ran down her cheeks and traced out her path on the ground.  
After locking the door, she slumped on the tiny bed. She fidgeted with the gun in her hand, a small pistol which had his initials engraved on it. A delicate pistol, which fit perfectly in her hand, gifted to her by the man she put to death. 

In the stories, the brave, chivalrous knight would kill the monster, save the pretty maid, return home with honour and riches and people thereafter would remember him with songs and stories. But there were no monsters in real life, only deadly weapons and mad people who misused them. So one man in particular, an excellent agent, a bodyguard of the president took it on his shoulders to prevent the capital from being rendered to flames and ashes. The monstrosity of a president was killed and the capital and its hundreds of thousands of inhabitants were saved from being devoured by death.  
If this were a fairytale, she mused, maybe the truth would be discovered quickly, and that man would be a national hero.  
But this was reality. The hero was charged of high treason, but kept the super weapons a secret, lest anyone else misuse it again. The unsung hero was now the beast and people loathed him when he was liberated by the new president.  
She was one of the masses and hated him for what he had done. But when she knew the truth she was overwhelmed. 

“Take it and continue on your mission.” She remembered him stuffing the pistol in her palm before she left. “Your success is my last chance of honour.”  
She wanted so much to shake his shoulders and yell at him. To thank him for saving her so many times throughout their journey. To tell him that his sacrifice was invaluable. To let him know that he was the bravest, most honourable person ever and he didn't need to her to regain it for him.  
To let him know that she didn't want to go, that she wanted to stay by his side forever, that she would tell everyone the truth so that his name would be the definition of chivalry. To tell him her feelings, how much she needed him to be with her.  
But what was she, apart from a piece of chess to be moved around? She mustn't hold on, or the current of time would sweep over and she would shatter into fragments.  
So she did nothing but thank him for the gift and turn to leave, not daring even to glance backwards.

She mustn't break down. If someone heard her sobbing, they might guess and charge her of treason as well. So she retreated into her mind palace, the only place in the world where there were no prying eyes and sarcastic comments.  
Somewhere in that grand castle, amidst shelves and cabinets and files, there was a small vault. Its password was her existence itself, so that its contents could easily be accessed when she sought refuge in her memories. In that vault were the few happy bits and pieces of her life. A Sunday spent in the park as a child, with all her family members alive; a quiet school day where no one noticed her.  
But most of it was her time with him: the first time they met, the times the times they fought, how they saved each other, secret touches and stolen kisses, and private fantasies of a life after the war. They would live in a farmhouse, or by the sea. They could have children. She would tell the press the song of the unsung hero.

Her eyes drifted open. She put down the pistol and wiped her eyes. Her tears had already dried and the pleasant slideshow of memories had left a smile on her face.

He left her a mission to regain his honour.  
She has to survive the war to save as many people as she can, to tell the world the truth, to show them the true story of the hero they had mistaken for an arch villain the whole time.  
This time, she would not fail him.


End file.
